


In Every Life

by lesyeuxverts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Teacher/Student, Threesome, alternate possible futures, chan (16), cross-dressing, dub-con, flagellation, priests having sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxverts/pseuds/lesyeuxverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Harry didn't have Severus and Draco…</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Every Life

In the masquerade, Harry knows his lovers – he can find them, no matter if he's watched Draco ruffle through his mothers' silks and jewels this year, no matter how many black cloaks he's watched Severus consider and discard. It's not the costumes, it's not the masks. It's the way they move.  
  
Draco and Severus are flirting behind Draco's painted fan, and Harry's trapped up on the dais between the Minister and Percy Weasley. Percy's tolerable, at least – costumed as his Muggle cousin the accountant, with pages of figures to occupy him during the feast – but the Minister is insufferable, spraying Harry with champagne fizz every time he snorts. He's dressed as a war hero. Harry doesn't remember which one, or when the celebration of Voldemort's defeat turned into a celebration of the Ministry's prowess.  
  
Draco flutters his fan at Harry and winks – Severus stares straight at him, reaching out to brush his mind with the barest wisp of Legilimency. _The gardens, before the speeches start. We'll slip out separately._  
  
Harry nods. This is the seventh year, the sixth time they've slipped out and missed the speeches, the sixth time that Harry has found them in the crowd of masks and costumes. The sixth time in the garden. He counts the times and keeps them all, every year – the memories keep him awake during the Minister's bragging and posturing.  
  
This year, it's different – Harry's the last to leave the ball. When he slips out to the garden, Draco and Severus are waiting for him in the shadows – black against silver, and Draco's robes are pooled around him, already half off. His head is tilted back, and Severus traces the line of his neck with kiss after kiss. Harry comes closer.  
  
"You started without me."  
  
Severus pulls Harry into the circle of his arms, leaving Draco for a moment and running his hands over Harry, pushing his way through the layers of clothing. "Couldn't wait," he says.   
  
"Missed you," Draco says, his fingers quick to unfasten Harry's buttons. He stretches like a lynx and then rubs against Harry, curling his hands around Harry's face and kissing him.   
  
"Indeed." Severus puts his hands on both of them, stroking the length of their spines and pushing them closer together. He rests his chin on the top of Harry's head and nudges his foot against Harry's, rubbing his instep. "How was the high table?"  
  
Harry makes a face, even if they can barely see him in the dark. "Don't remind me."  
  
Draco unfastens another row of buttons, peeling away Harry's clothing layer by layer until the fancy costume is gone and only his own clothes remain. He traces the edge of Harry's mask, his fingers feather-light as he moves from temple to nose, stroking Harry's cheekbones. "Let us help you forget."  
  
Draco finishes with Harry's buttons and takes off his own robes, letting them slip the rest of the way down his body and pool at his feet. He's wearing a dress underneath, a short silver thing that clings to his body and shows his thighs – Harry reaches out to touch, and Severus catches his hand. "Not yet," he says. "Watch."  
  
Pressing his hands to his hips, Draco pulls the dress tight against his body, arching his back until he almost leans into Harry's touch – almost, not quite. He's long and lean, outlined in the silver dress and by the shadows from the trees. Harry wants to touch his body, undress him and feel every inch of his skin.   
  
He doesn't get the chance. Draco disrobes first, turning it into a slow striptease – each lacing undone with a coy look, the dress sliding down to pool at his feet, the corset carefully undone and set aside. He's beautiful, his skin bare in the moonlight and the light streaming from the torches by the building.   
  
Flames and shadows, Harry thinks, and then he has no more time to think. Draco is kneeling at his feet, kissing his ankles and unfastening his shoes.   
  
Harry steps out of them, lets Draco work his way up and unfasten Harry's trousers, mouthing kisses against his cock and slipping down his pants, leaving him naked. Harry leans into each touch and then leans back against Severus, turning his face up for a kiss.   
  
Maybe it's the wine running warm through his veins, but Harry feels light-headed, almost dizzy, like he's caught in some whirlpool. He isn't – he's pressed between his lovers, anchored in the here and now, and he can't forget that. He can't.   
  
He grips Draco's hair, using it to pull him closer – it's like a silk leash. Draco comes willingly, kissing the head of Harry's cock and licking it like a lolly before starting to suck in earnest. It's good, as good as it's ever been – better – and Harry lets his head fall back against Severus's shoulder. Kiss after kiss, Severus rocking against him, his cock pressed against Harry's arse, sliding between his cheeks.  
  
Severus is the only one still dressed, and Harry pulls away from Draco and turns to remedy that. He undresses Severus quickly – no striptease, no lingering on the scars, no kisses.   
  
After seven years, all three of them know what the others want. Harry doesn't even have to ask for it before he's pressed against the garden bench, a hasty Cushioning Charm protecting him from the cold stone. Later, there will be time for slow and careful love, but now, Harry's between his two lovers, where he wants to be.  
  
Draco is in front of him, still wearing his peacock feather mask – his eyes gleam through it as he strokes Harry's cheek, as he fucks Harry's mouth. Harry opens his mouth wider, moaning as Severus kneels behind him and parts his cheeks. A first breath against his hole, a first tentative lick, and then there's no more teasing. Severus gives him everything, licking and sucking until Harry's ready to beg for more, for mercy.   
  
He'll never have that – Severus is never merciful – but when Harry strains back against him, spreading his legs wide, Severus gives him what he wants, slicking his cock and sliding in slowly, taking care not to hurt Harry. He always does.   
  
Harry's caught between the two of them, with them, part of them – they're all three together, and it's perfect. Every year, on the anniversary of when it all began … when the three of them began … they come together like this, and it's better than it ever could be otherwise. Harry arches between his lovers, thrusting back to take more of Severus's cock, thrusting forward to take more of Draco's, until he has them both, until he's filled.  
  
They're lying in a sweaty heap, pressed breastbone against spine, heartbeat against heartbeat, when they hear the clink of glasses and the pop of champagne bottles. There's the low murmur of speeches and the choruses of applause ... they're free of it, safe in the green and moonlight of the garden. There's nowhere that Harry would rather be.   
  
"If I didn't have the two of you…"  
  
Draco and Severus say nothing, but Draco kisses him on the mouth and Severus presses a closed-mouth kiss to his shoulder blade. They hold him tight, even as the breeze picks up and the sweat dries on their skin and the night turns cold. If Harry didn't have Severus and Draco…  
  
\-------  
  
It happens like a bad dream. One minute, Harry is walking through the door, thinking of nothing other than roast lamb for dinner, even though it's nothing compared to the feast that Lily will be having at Hogwarts … and the stiff, formal nod that Malfoy gave him at the train station. For some reason, that nod stays with him. It's been the same these past seven years, the careful formality that is always between the two of them, acknowledging everything that happened and saying nothing about it. It's Malfoy, and Harry has to try hard not to care.  
  
One minute, there's the nod and the train taking Lily to Hogwarts for her last year and the file at the office he has to finish before Friday, and the next minute, Harry's in the middle of a nightmare. He walks into the kitchen and that's all it takes – there they are. Severus Snape is fucking Harry's youngest son, spreading him out on the kitchen table as though he's a feast, devouring him.   
  
Harry freezes. There's nothing that will take this minute away, nothing that will make Harry go back a minute in time and knock before entering the kitchen. Nothing that will take away the image of his son spread out for Snape.   
  
Snape's kneeling on the chair, stroking Al's thighs and running a hand down his spine. Harry can't hear what he says, but Al relaxes into the touch, arching up into Snape's hand, pushing back against him.   
  
"Do it," he says, his voice strong and clear. Harry hears that much, hears his son begging Severus Snape to fuck him.   
  
This is it, then – the end result of all of the potions lessons, the private tutoring, the careful and strained inclusion of Snape in their family dinners. Harry forgave this man and let him into his house and encouraged Al to trust him. Albus Severus.  
  
A name, a history, a thousand lessons, a lifetime later – Al followed in his footsteps. He's like Snape, and Harry can't change his mind. He's never been able to.   
  
Stepping away from the door, Harry lets it slam shut behind him. Locking spells, Silencing Charms … Snape will teach those to Al, too.   
  
When he's in his study and alone, Harry leans against the wall and lets his head fall forward until it hits the bookshelf. He should have taught Al himself.   
  
The image stays with him: Snape between Al's legs, thrusting in and out of him. Harry caught glimpses of his cock, saw Snape biting his lower lip, his fingers curled around Al's hips. He saw Snape fucking his son.  
  
Harry bites his own lip, unbuckled his belt and lets his trousers slip off his waist, pulling down his pants and freeing his cock. He'd been hard ever since he saw Malfoy at King's Cross, staring straight at Harry, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. Harry was still hard when he saw Snape fucking Al. The two of them … Harry had never been able to resist them, and there they were, Draco with his wife and Snape fucking Harry's son.   
  
Draco's thin lips, his pink tongue … Snape's hard cock… Harry leans against the bookcase, resting his head on his forearm. He touches his cock with slow, prolonged strokes, making it count, making it last. Ginny never touched him like this, never – and the things that Harry has seen, the things that he wants, Ginny will never give him.   
  
He lets his hand slip lower, pressing a finger against his hole, slipping it in. Tight, slow, stretching him with the faintest burn, this is what Al has with Snape.   
  
Harry presses his mouth against his forearm, muffling the noises that he wants to make. He comes with a shout, splattering the books – but it isn't his hand on his cock, he isn't thinking about Ginny. He fucks himself with his fingers and imagines Snape's cock, Draco's lips, Snape fucking Al … that's what makes Harry come. He gasps, and that's muffled by his arm, too, and there are cleaning spells that can Banish the mess.  
  
There are cleaning spells for the mess and locking spells for the door and silencing spells for the noises, and everything will be right with the world. Magic will set it all to rights, and Harry will forget about Draco, forget about Snape fucking Al, forget about everything.   
  
There's Ginny, and their dinner together tonight, and a report due Friday, and that's what Harry needs to do. It's like walking into a bad dream, but Harry fastens his pants and Banishes his come and does it. He can do this.  
  
\-------  
  
Harry's tied with his hands behind his back, bound with rope and spells. He's helpless, and there's a gag in his mouth – he couldn't say no if he wanted to.   
  
He doesn't want to. He deserves this.   
  
Snape snaps a whip in the air, making Harry jump out of his skin. He hadn't noticed Snape returning – he hadn't heard anything, but Snape always walked without making a sound, sweeping along corridors in his billowing black robes. He looked like an angel of death who bore no mercy. Harry shudders.  
  
"The Headmaster agreed that I may see to your punishment." Snape had left Harry waiting for hours, and the news is almost a relief. "If I had come a moment sooner, I'd have been able to save Mr. Malfoy, but as it is … well. You've killed a fellow student, and that will not be overlooked, the way so many of your escapades have been."   
  
Snape strokes Harry's cheek, tracing the edge of the gag. "You may choose between me and Azkaban, Mr. Potter."  
  
With the gag in his mouth, Harry can't speak, but he nods frantically at Snape, who smirks at him. "Very well. Let us hope that you won't come to regret that choice."  
  
When Snape murmurs a spell, all of Harry's clothes disappear, leaving him completely naked. He shivers – it's because the dungeons are cold, not because he's afraid. Certainly not because he's afraid of Snape.   
  
It doesn't come as a surprise when Snape starts to whip Harry across his back and buttocks – after the way the whip cracked through the air, the pain shouldn't have been a surprise, either. Harry struggles against his bonds, trying to escape, trying to spit out the gag and scream, but Snape shows him no mercy.   
  
"Foolish boy," he says when he finally stops, standing in front of Harry and flexing his wrist. "Did you think that magic was a game? Did you think that you could try out unknown spells on your classmates with impunity?"  
  
Snape leaves Harry there for a moment, and then unbinds his wrists with a flick of his wand. "Did you think that you could kill with impunity, Mr. Potter? Are you proud of what you've done?"  
  
He prods Harry's mouth with the tip of his wand. "Well, boy? Answer me."  
  
"I – n-no, sir." Harry scrambles to his feet, backing away from Snape. "I'm not – I didn't–"  
  
"You're not proud of yourself, Mr. Potter? You don't consider it the crowning achievement of your academic career here at Hogwarts? Was it _noble_ of you to slice open Draco's chest and watch him bleed to death in front of you?"  
  
"N-no." Harry's voice is firmer now. He backs up against a wall and presses his palms flat against the cold stone. He won't shake or tremble. He won't.  
  
He can't erase the image of Draco dying from his head, and now the ghost of Harry's act is between him and Snape. Now it's been said out loud.   
  
Now it's real. Harry killed another boy and watched him die.  
  
"Have you learned your lesson?" Snape asks. He reaches out and touches Harry's cheek again, flicking away a tear.   
  
Harry swallows. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Dumbledore won't send his Golden Boy to Azkaban, no matter what you do. You can walk out of here now, if you want, and not a word will be said about any of this. Is that what you want?"  
  
"I – what do you mean?"  
  
"You're needed in the fight against Voldemort, Potter. You can walk out of here and you'll face no further punishment. Is that what you want? Have you been punished enough?"  
  
Harry closes his eyes and sees only red. Malfoy's blood on the stone floor. Malfoy's hand flung out from his body, reaching for Harry at the last.   
  
"No, sir," Harry says in a small voice. "I haven't been punished enough."  
  
"Fine." Snape whirls away and stalks across the room. "Bend over the bench again."  
  
Harry obeys. He freezes when the ropes wrap around him again, binding him in place, and then the gag is forcing its way into his mouth and he almost chokes on it.   
  
"You'll regret what you've done," Snape says. "You'll pay and pay until you feel that you've filled your debt."  
  
His voice drops as he stalks towards Harry. Standing in front of him, Snape unbuttons his trousers, pulling out his prick and brushing it against the gag in Harry's mouth. He's half-hard, and he puts a finger under Harry's chin, forcing his head up and making him watch. Snape strokes himself until his cock is hard and pre-come is dripping from the tip. He smears it across Harry's cheek, and Harry flinches.  
  
Harry chose this. He deserves it. When Snape Banishes the gag and forces his prick down Harry's throat, he relaxes and takes it. His mouth is stretched so wide it hurts, but Harry can't move, can't struggle. There's nothing to do but accept it, and Snape fucks his mouth until Harry sees stars behind his eyelids. He can't breathe.  
  
Malfoy will never breathe again. Harry doesn't deserve to breathe after what he's done. The truth hits him until he's crying, more tears leaking out of his eyes – he can't stop it, and he's choking on Snape's cock.   
  
Snape pulls out of Harry's mouth and strokes his cock until he's coming over Harry's face, splattering his skin and glasses with come. Harry can't see, and when Snape puts a hand to his face, wiping away the tears and stroking his cheek, Harry leans into the touch. It's the only warmth in the cold dungeons, the only reassurance there is now Malfoy's gone.   
  
Without saying a word, Snape sits on the bench next to him and touches Harry until he's calmed. Then Snape Banishes the rest of the mess, unties the ropes and clothes Harry with a spell.   
  
"Go," he says, giving Harry a light swat on the back. Over the marks left by the whip, it stings, but Harry still leans into Snape's touch. It almost feels right.   
  
"Come back when you need me."  
  
\-------  
  
Harry's pressed between Severus and Draco, caught up in the warmth of their bodies, and the sounds they make echo in the high-vaulted cathedral, but somehow it doesn't seem wrong. Severus has unbuttoned his tight collar, baring his neck with all its scars, and Draco's lips are stretched around a prayer. He begs for more, and Harry gives it to him.   
  
He pounds into Draco, thrusting so hard that Draco's head knocks against the pew, and stops only when Severus puts a hand on his shoulder.   
  
Harry lets Severus reposition him, pulling Draco up until the three of them fit together. Harry lets Severus spread his legs, slicking him with a cool gel, thrusting into him – and then he starts fucking Draco again. He lets Severus set the pace and it's good to follow him. It's good not to think.  
  
There's nothing to think about, nothing. Snape's thrusts shake the pew, and Harry reaches for Draco's cock, stroking it until Draco arches back against him. Draco's outlined in the light from the stained glass windows, pure white coming through the glass and the black pattern of the lead that sets the pattern. Parallel lines cross his face like bars– Harry looks up at the window, and it's a picture of Jesus that casts those shadows, his fingers highlighted on Draco's face. He has his hand raised in blessing and his gaze goes straight through Harry.  
  
Harry closes his eyes. This is right – in spite of everything, this feels right. He needs Draco and Severus no matter what the law says, no matter what their vows say. The world as they know it is dead, their magic is gone, and this is the only way for the three of them to survive. Harry needs them, and they need him.  
  
Draco closes his eyes, his lips moving as he reaches for Harry. Harry catches his hand and presses a kiss to the palm of it – this hand that was used to kill, that was used to repent, that has been used to bless and heal the sick and wounded. He presses Draco's hand against his heart and he thrusts into Draco again and again, the pace set by Severus.  
  
Severus stops when he's close to coming, when Draco begins to pray. He kisses Harry's shoulder blade and his hands brush wide patterns on Harry's back. Angel wings.  
  
The three of them hold one another, Harry sandwiched in the middle, stopping just short this side of heaven. It's just a thrust away, Harry thinks – here with Severus and Draco, here–  
  
The great door of the cathedral opens and closes with a boom. Before the echoes have died, Severus has grabbed the two of them, pulling them out of the pew and into the confessional at the end of the aisle. Harry's heart thuds in his chest and his breath comes in quick short gasps. If they had been caught – if they had lost their refuge in the Church–  
  
It's a tight squeeze to fit the three of them in the confessional. They're pressed up one against the other, chest-to-chest, skin against skin, all three of them bare. It doesn't matter what the sins of the flesh are – it doesn't matter that the wages of sin are death. When the echoes of the door have died down and there's silence throughout the cathedral, Harry rocks against Draco and turns his head back for a kiss from Severus.  
  
Silence echoes through the church and the confessional is dark, shadowy. Harry nudges against Draco, forcing his legs apart and then thrusting into him. He waits for Severus to join them, putting a hand over Draco's mouth when he would have moaned. The three of them move together in silence.   
  
Secret, silent … this isn't worth the magic they lost. Whatever it is between them, the few moments they steal to be together, it isn't worth the price of hiding from the Death Eaters like this. It isn't enough, and Harry aches every time he slips a hand in his cassock, looking for his wand and finding only a rosary.   
  
Severus fucks him harder and Draco moans against his hand, and Harry closes his eyes, giving himself over to the feelings. It almost feels right, here with Severus and Draco, needing them. It's right.  
  
\-------  
  
Snape has lost the bone-sharp whiteness of death, the colour that his portrait had at first. His sallow colouring is back and he still sneers at Harry. There's some comfort in that routine, even if each barb still stings. Even if Snape's portrait is hung there to keep watch over Harry and keep him on his best behaviour.  
  
Harry ignores Snape this morning, blowing across Malfoy's coffee to cool it. Cream and two sugars, sweet and sinful. Harry could eat for a month on the money that Malfoy spends on coffee.   
  
"Someone from the Ministry will be in to see you today," Malfoy says when Harry brings him his breakfast. "Do try to behave, won't you?"  
  
Snape's taunts are the same, but then Malfoy is the one who's alive and able to change. If he's moved on from calling Harry "scarhead" to treating him like a house elf, there's no surprise there. If his eyes don't shine when he insults Harry and if he doesn't smirk the way he used to – well. He toadies to his Lord and curses Harry when it counts.   
  
Harry's fingers clench on the tea tray and he almost spills the remnants of Malfoy's breakfast down the corridor in an ungainly stumble. He doesn't – he catches himself in time.  
  
The Ministry representative turns out to be Percy Weasley, who ducks his head and blushes when he sees Harry. The questions about his well being aren't routine, this month – no matter how ineffective the Ministry is under Voldemort's rule, Percy actually _cares_ , and Harry knows it.   
  
After the interview, he takes Percy down to the servants' hall and offers him tea. They're alone, and the clink of the heavy pottery cups echoes in the room. There's nothing to say – Harry and Percy are both survivors in their own way, but they've got nothing else in common. Nothing safe to talk about.  
  
Percy cares about Harry, though, and he doesn't push Harry away when the accidental touches linger and turn into caresses. That's more than anyone else in this place, more than Malfoy and more than Snape.   
  
Harry pulls down Percy's trousers, pushing him against the high counter. Their cups clink together when they tip over, flooding the countertop with milky tea, and Percy makes a sound that might be a protest. He edges away from the spreading puddle of tea and grabs Harry, pulling him closer.   
  
He stops before unfastening Harry's trousers, his fingers splayed out and pressed against Harry's belly. "Are you okay … really okay?"  
  
Harry put his lips against Percy's neck, kissing the dry skin there. Percy smells like everything that Harry's forgotten – the Burrow, Molly's cooking, _home_ – and Harry takes a deep breath. He's all right. He has to be.  
  
There's nothing else to say, nothing that words can do. There's just the language of their bodies, the relief of skin against skin. Hands exploring through clothing, under clothing – cocks pressed together – lips touching, Percy's chapped lips kissing Harry at last – it's too much, and Harry's glasses fog up. He can't see Percy, and he fumbles, grabbing Percy's shoulder with sweaty fingers, holding onto him when the world fragments around them.   
  
He rests his head against Percy's shoulder, his head turned so that he can breathe in Percy's smell. He feels small next to Percy, with Percy's arms wrapped loosely around him, with the smell of the Burrow close enough to touch.  
  
Even when the two of them pull apart and put their clothing to rights, Harry doesn't look up. He doesn't want to know if Snape is in his portrait frame watching them, doesn't want to see Snape's smirk or hear his taunts.   
  
Harry and Percy bump into Malfoy as they leave the room and he smirks at them as though he knows. He reaches out and touches Harry's arse as they pass – in the tight corridor, Percy doesn't see it.   
  
"If you're on your best behaviour, perhaps your friend can visit more often." Malfoy winks, a wink that only Harry can see. When Percy has smiled and agreed and escaped, Malfoy presses Harry against the wall, grinding against him. "And if you're not on your best behaviour, your friend will suffer. Am I clear?"  
  
"Yes." Harry grits it out, trying to shrink away from Malfoy, trying to escape Snape's gaze. The Death Eaters have him trapped. They've won.  
  
"Yes, _Master_ ," Malfoy says, his hand pressed hard against Harry's cock, his breath hot on Harry's neck.  
  
"Yes, Master," Harry says. He doesn't look at Malfoy, but when he's gone, Harry looks up at Snape's portrait. Snape is there, but he's not smirking. There are no taunts about his slavery or his parents. "Quite a show," he says instead.  
  
Snape has opened his robes and he stares straight at Harry while he wanks, his sallow hands moving on his swollen prick. He swallows hard when he comes, his semen splattering the frame like oil paint, and he doesn't look away from Harry for a second.   
  
It's too much. Harry puts his arm over his eyes and flees for his room, for the bed positioned under another of Snape's portraits. He flings himself onto the bed, keeping his eyes covered, and pretends that Snape isn't watching him. Harry pretends that it hasn't all gone wrong.   
  
\-------  
  
It starts out simple, but Draco's always known how to push Harry. He prods and taunts and goads until Harry gives it to him, either with his fists or with a good fucking. Now, it's usually the latter, but Draco still knows how to do it.   
  
He's unpeeled a banana and now he's drizzling chocolate over it, stretching his lips wide to suck on it. His tongue darts out to lick the excess chocolate off his lips, and Harry tries not to stare.   
  
"I bet you couldn't do it," Draco says. "You have a weird cupboard fetish after being raised by those Muggles. You probably couldn't get it up if we were fucking outdoors."  
  
He licks a drop of chocolate off the tip of the banana, and Harry clenches his hands into fists. "I could."  
  
That's how Harry ends up tied to a tree in the Forbidden Forest. They'd snuck onto the Hogwarts grounds, pilfered the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's tomb, and found the Resurrection Stone with a Summoning Spell. Simple.  
  
"Are you sure you can do it with Snape watching?" Draco asks, and the taunt pushes Harry into action. He uses the Stone to summon Snape, and when his wispy form appears, Harry turns away, looking at Draco instead.   
  
"I can do it," Harry says.   
  
Draco kneels in front of him, running a feather over his bare skin. Harry doesn't flinch when Draco teases the inside of his thighs – he doesn't arch his back and lean into the touch when Draco rubs the feather against his cock. Snape has floated through the air until he's behind Draco, looking straight at Harry.   
  
Harry gulps when Draco starts sucking his cock and Snape's still staring at him. Snape's almost insubstantial, not really there – Harry closes his eyes and thrusts into Draco's mouth, straining against the ropes that bind him to the tree.   
  
"None of that," Draco says, pulling away from Harry. He stands, kissing Harry – he still tastes like banana and chocolate – and taps his wand to the ropes, binding Harry tighter. Harry struggles, but it does him no good, and Draco only grins at him. "You'll just have to wait."  
  
Feather-light kisses over Harry's collarbone, the touch of the feather to his nipples, his stomach, his cock – Draco touches him again and again, until he's driving Harry crazy. Until he makes Harry beg.   
  
It's easy to do, even with Snape watching. Harry begs, the words falling out of his mouth in a meaningless jumble, and Draco leans in for a real kiss at last. He presses his body against Harry's, covering him, rubbing against him. He wraps a hand around their cocks, stroking them off together.  
  
Harry keeps his eyes closed when he comes, squeezing them shut tightly so that he won't see Snape, so that Snape isn't there – but he feels empty, afterwards. Snape is staring at them, and he's just mist and vapours. He can't touch them. He can't touch anyone.   
  
Draco pillows his head against Harry's shoulder, the tree supporting both of them. There's silence in the forest around them, and at last Harry reaches for the Elder Wand, using it to loosen his bonds and free himself. He and Draco dress, not saying a word. Draco's lips are swollen and he takes Harry's hand.   
  
Snape's gone when Harry looks back at him, and there's nothing to mark the spot where he had been. Harry lets the Resurrection Stone fall to the ground and he kicks at the twigs and leaves, scuffing them over to cover the Stone. He squeezes Draco's hand and they Apparate home.  
  
It started out simple, but Snape wasn't simple when he was alive, and he isn't now, not between the two of them. Harry pulls Draco up to their bedroom, closing the door behind them and leaning back against it.  
  
"I knew you had a cupboard fetish," Draco says. Something of his old smirk is back, and Harry pins Draco to the wall, kissing the smirk away.   
  
\-------  
  
There was one thing that made it Harry's life – the moment after he had defeated Voldemort, when Severus and Draco had rescued him. No matter how many possible futures there were, that was his reality and what made it his.   
  
Harry shivers, and Severus rubs his shoulders. "All right, Harry?"  
  
"Yeah. It's nothing," he says. Visions, nightmares, might-have-beens … there's no life where he's without his lovers. It couldn't happen. "Just a goose walking over my grave."  
  
Draco kisses him, a soft kiss that lingers on his lips, and Severus pulls him into a tight embrace. The two of them bracket Harry, and he relaxes.   
  
"Shall we go back to the masquerade?" Severus asks, tracing the line of Harry's spine. He lingers over each vertebra, following his fingers with kisses.   
  
"I don't think we need masks or costumes, do you?" Harry reaches for Draco's cock, shifting so that he rubs against Severus too. Rocking between them, Harry's caught up in the heat of their bodies and held in their arms. He kisses Draco and then twists back to kiss Severus, prolonging each kiss and drawing it out to make it last. No future is better than this.


End file.
